My Little Lamb
by jumpstreetgirl
Summary: Tom and the gang set out for yet another investigation, but a figure from his past meets up with him along the way. What will happen when he finds out that his future may lay inside a dying five year old girl? First '21 Jump Street' fic. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

* * *

Author's Note: This is my FIRST (repeat FIRST!) 21 Jump Street fan fiction. I've recently become a HUGE fan of the series, and this idea popped into my head while watching Law and Order: SVU (another good series!) one night before going to bed. So yes, please be gentle with me...and also, if anyone who starred or was involved with '21 Jump Street' is reading this and wants to sue me, well, I've got bad new for you...I got no money! xD

* * *

Judy Hoffs was washing her face when her telephone rang from her bedroom. It was ten-thirty at night, the time when she was usually preparing herself to go to bed. Hurriedly, she washed her face off with hot water and raced to the phone before whoever was calling hung up. She picked it up and breathed into it, "Hello?"

"Hey Jude, it's me," came an familiar voice from the other line.

She sighed and smiled. "Hi, Tom. What's going on?"

"Nothing," was Tom's reply.

"Well, something must be up, since you're calling so late," she sat on her bed.

Tom sighed. "Oh, I don't know, Jude..."

There was a pause for a minute. Then, Judy said without thinking, "You haven't been drinking again, have you?"

"Mmmmm," Tom muttered. Judy quickly changed the phone from one ear to another.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked him.

"I'm fine, Jude, really," said Tom.

Judy pursed her lips. "Do you want me to go over to your place? You sound sad."

"No. I'll be okay," said Tom. Thunder rumbled from outside Judy's bedroom, and she heard static on the phone. Gently, she sank her two front teeth into her lower lip.

"Are you sure you're not drinking again? 'Cause if you are-" she started, but Tom interrupted. "Only a little bit."

Judy became worried. She had been working with him long enough to know that for him 'a little bit' meant 'a lot'. She sighed.

"I'll come over there," she said, getting up and putting on her shoes. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes, okay?"

She heard Tom sigh from the other end. "Thanks, Jude."

Then, there was a clicking sound, and the phone went dead. She heard thunder from outside her window again. She put the phone back on its stand and looked up into the mirror. Water had splashed all over her front. Annoyed, she took it off and wondered around her bedroom for a minute in her undershirt, looking for her favorite sweatshirt. When she finally found it, she threw it on, and, in her pajama pants still, she locked her front door and left for Tom's place.

By the time she had reached it, it had started to rain heavily. She pulled the hood over her head and hurried in. When she reached his front door, she pulled her hood off and knocked on it. From inside, she could hear Tom say softly, "Door's open."

She opened the door and entered. She found Tom slumped on the sofa. About four or so empty beer bottles were found on the coffee table in front of him, and, with, a shaking hand, Tom had the fifth bottle near his lips.

"Hey," Judy said quietly, closing the door behind her.

Tom looked up and pulled the bottle away from his lips. "Hi."

She paused in front of him, staring at the empty beer bottles. "You drank quite a bit."

Tom snorted lightly. "Hmpf. No really."

There was a slight pause. Then Judy said, "How long have you been drinking?"

"I don't know. Since I got home, maybe," said Tom.

"Well, it's getting late," she said. "You have work tomorrow."

Tom took another swig, as if he did not notice her.

"Please, Tom," said Judy. "No more drinking tonight!"

He looked up at her finally, and set his bottle down onto the coffee table with the empty ones. She smiled and collected them, and she drained the remnants from the bottles into the kitchen sink. Coming back into the living room, she grabbed a blanket and threw it on him. As she sat next to him, Tom gathered up some of the blanket into his hands.

"Here," he said. "Have some."

Judy stared at Tom for a few minutes, unaware of what to do. She forced a smile and spread some of the blanket across her lap. Then, they sat there on the sofa for a few minutes, staring at the TV. During a pantiliner commercial, Judy felt Tom's thick fingers slip into her long, elegant ones. She turned her head towards him, and he pulled his hand away.

"Oh," she said. "No, it's okay."

For a minute, Tom looked like he didn't know what to do. Then, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close to him. Judy noticed that, despite drinking all night, he smelled of Dial soap.

After sitting on the sofa for a while with Tom, Judy felt her body begin to relax, and her eyelids grew heavy. She laid her head against Tom's shoulder and closed her eyes. As she began to fall asleep, she felt Tom's hand slip down, so that he was now touching her hip. She opened her eyes, but before she could say anything, the electricity went out suddenly. Both of them jumped slightly, and as they looked at one another, they began to laugh, but their voices were drowned out by the heavy rain from outside...

* * *

The next day, when they were back at work, Judy was tired and Tom had a pounding headache. It wasn't as busy as most days were, and as they came in, they saw Harry writing something in a notebook and Doug testing out paper airplanes that he made. He looked over and saw that Judy was still in the same attire from last night. He raised his eyebrows as he eyed her pajama pants.

"Nice outfit."

Judy rolled her eyes. "Thanks," she said flatly, settling into her chair.

"So, what's going on?" asked Tom, sitting on Doug's desk.

"So far, nothing," said Harry, looking up.

"Where's Fuller?" said Tom.

"Don't know," said Doug. He looked at Tom. "God, Tom, you look like hell, man. You been drinking?"

"Last night I was," Tom muttered, scratching his ear.

Doug threw another paper airplane into the air. "Hungover?"

"Obviously," was Tom's answer. The airplane swivelled back and landed on Tom's lap. Tom crumpled it in his hands and threw it at Doug's head. Then, Captain Fuller came in, his face serious.

"What's up?" said Judy.

"Got a new case," Fuller answered. He reached into his bag and pulled out a file. He handed it to Tom. "Here. Take it."

Tom grabbed the file and opened it."What's it about?"

"A new girl at one of the local high schools is claiming that her father is sexually abusing her," explained Fuller. "No arrests have been made yet, but we're putting this under investigation."

"Why?" said Tom. "Why don't we just arrest him and put him under questioning?"

"Well, when the girl was saying this and that about what her father did to her, it all sounded a little..." Fuller seemed at a loss of words.

Judy raised her eyebrow. "Like she was making it up as she went?"

"Exactly," said Fuller. "Still, I want all of you to be very cautious about this, because she may have been speaking the truth."

Tom paged through the file and paused. "Rowan Lynch? What kind of a name is that?"

"It's Irish. Her and her family are from Ireland," Fuller explained. "She has an older brother, Seamus Lynch, who's in 12th grade, so it may make it easier for some more information. She also has a little sister, Dymphna, by marriage."

"I think it'll be kind of hard to go undercover as an elementary school kid," joked Doug.

"That's because you aren't, Doug. Tom is," said Fuller.

Tom widened his eyes. "_What?_"

"Officers Hoffs, Penhall, and Ioki, you will go the high school in incognito as usual, but Officer Hanson, you will be disguised as a teacher's aide at the elementary school," said Fuller. "I find that you have something in common with children; you both honestly-even bluntly-speak the truth."

Tom's face went pink as Doug began to snicker. "I can't believe it."

"Now, you shouldn't worry about this," said Fuller with a small smile. "I think you'll find something interesting about Dymphna's mother."

Tom raised his head. "What?"

"Did you happen to know a girl named Jane back when you were in high school?" asked Fuller.

Tom's eyes widened once again. "Jane? You mean, like Janie Libowiz?"

"Technically, Janie Lynch now," corrected Fuller.

Judy looked puzzled. "Did you know her, Tom? Were you friends with her?"

Tom turned to Judy, his face stark-white. "She used to be my girlfriend!"

* * *

A/N: So that's it for chappie 1! I hope you guys like it so far, and please please PLEASE send me feedback!!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Yippy-skippy, here's chappie 2 for all of you guys that were waiting!!

* * *

Doug pulled up his pants, looking uncomfortable. "I hate wearing these."

Doug, Harry and Judy were at Hastings High, undercover as students once again. It felt awkward that Tom was not there with them. Students were quickly shoving themselves by, hurrying for their next classes. Judy looked at her schedule and said, "Well, the class I have now is 'Free Period'." She looked at Harry and Doug. "Yours?"

"'Free Period', too," said Harry.

"Nah. I got English honors next," Doug read.

"Okay, then. I guess we spend the next fifty minutes in the library, I guess," said Judy. She motioned to Harry, and they walked into the crowd in the opposite direction. Doug sighed, closed his locker and headed upstairs looking for room B-102.

When he finally reached his English room, the bell had already rung. He quickly rang his fingers through his hair, and, as coldly as he could opened the door and walked in. The class was still chatting excitedly under their breath to their friends when he walked in, but a sudden hush fell throughout the room as their eyes fell onto him. The English teacher, Miss Donahue, got up and walked in front of the classroom, so that she was standing next to Doug.

"Class," she said in a crisp voice, "I would like you to meet a new student. His name is-"

"McQuaid," said Doug in a tough voice. He could hear whispers go all throughout the room.

Miss Donahue paused for a few moments. Then, she said, "Alright, then."

She faced Doug, looking at him up and down. "And were are your school supplies, Mr. McQuaid?"

"What school supplies?" Doug threw up his arms. "I got a photographic memory, what do you want from me?"

The girls gasped, and the boys began to snicker in amusement. Miss Donahue pursed her lips together. "Fine, Mr. McQuaid, that will have to do for today, but I expect that you have your school supplies in by the end of this week. Understand? Good. For now, you can sit next to Seamus." She pointed to a tall, freckled boy with curly, dark-brown hair. "He's Irish as well."

Doug looked at her with mock surprise. "Who said anything about me being Irish? I'm half-Italian and half-drag-queen."

The class roared with laughter, and Miss Donahue went a bright shade of magenta. Smiling at himself, he made his way over to Seamus and sat in the empty desk behind him. As Miss Donahue wrote out what page numbers to read in _Hamlet, _he tapped Seamus on his shoulder and whispered, "Dia duit."

Seamus turned his head sharply to Doug. "I didn't know you spoke Irish Gaelic," he said in a thick Cork accent.

"Yeah, well, I'm actually half-Irish and half-Italian," he whispered back. He leaned back in his chair for a few minutes, watching Miss Donahue speak. Then, he tapped him on the shoulder again. As Seamus turned back to him, he whispered, "Funny question I just thought of, but...do you have any siblings?"

"Oh, yeah," Seamus nodded. "I have two younger sisters and a younger brother. My first sister, Rowan, she's fourteen, and in the ninth grade. My brother, Caleb, he's three."

"What about the other sister?" asked Doug.

Seamus sighed. "Well, my other sister, Dymphna, she's only my sister by marriage. She's five, but about two and a half years ago, when she was three, the doctors found out she had a medulloblastoma tumor in her."

Doug raised his eyebrows, looking confused. "What's that?"

"It's an malignant brain tumor," Seamus explained. "Ever since then, she's been receiving chemotherapy."

Doug was silent for a new minutes, trying to think of the right thing to say. His eyes fell onto Seamus's notebook. "Nice handwriting."

Seamus looked down at his notebook and smiled. "Thanks." He turned to Doug again. "You know, one of my talents is that I can imitate other people's handwriting."

Doug smiled. "Rad. Maybe I can give you a sample of my mother's handwriting sometime, and you can make me an excuse note so that I can get out of this hell-hole early."

"Mr. Lynch and Mr. McQuaid, will you PLEASE stop talking and look up at the board to see what pages you are supposed to read in your books?" Miss Donahue said loudly. The class turned to them and snickered. They obediently nodded their heads, but as the teacher turned away, they looked at one another once more and grinned.

* * *

"Here it is," Judy opened to the door to the library. She stepped back to Harry in first, then went in herself. They walked over to what seemed to be the checkout desk.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but is this where we go to for our free periods?" she asked. "We're new."

The lady at the desk, who was reading the newspaper, looked over to them and nodded. "Yes, but I just need to see your schedules first, just to make sure you're not skipping class."

Judy and Harry handed over their schedules, and the lady looked at them closely and gave them her nod of approval. They tucked their schedules back into their pockets and walked to a table in a quiet corner of the library. There, they sat down and pulled out whatever textbook was in their backpack and held it up close to their faces, pretending to read it. For the next few minutes, they heard more and more students come in and sit down around them. No one came to sit down with them, until they heard a girl's voice say, "Is anyone else sitting here?"

Judy and Harry looked up. A girl-at least fourteen or fifteen years old-was standing there. She had long, curly dark-brown hair and freckled skin.

"Oh no," said Judy, pulling out the chair that was next to her. "You can sit here, if you want."

The girl gave Judy a small smile. "Thank you," she said in a thick Cork accent and sat next to Judy. She quickly reached into her backpack, took out a math textbook, a notebook, and a pencil, and began to busy herself with math problems before anyone could say anything else. Judy continued reading what seemed to be a biology textbook and occasionally looked over at the girl. When she saw that she was having some trouble with one problem, Judy whispered, "It's 8, 4x and 3y all over 11z."

The girl looked up at Judy with disbelief. "How'd you figure that out?"

"Oh, well, I was somewhat of a bookworm in my old school. My name's Judy Walker," she lied.

"I'm new too. I'm Rowan Lynch," the girl and Judy shook hands.

"Oh, and he's new too," Judy pointed to Harry. "He just moved here from Hong Kong. His name's Harry Liang."

"My-English-no-good-yet!" Harry said in a corny Chinese accent, but Rowan seemed to buy it.

"I'm from a different country too, Ireland," said Rowan.

"Wow, that's rad," said Judy. "I've always wanted to visit there."

Just then, a paper-ball was thrown into the air and hit Rowan in the back of her head. They could hear laughter from across the room. Rowan turned pink and bowed her head.

"Having a rough start?" asked Judy quietly.

Rowan nodded her head. "Don't worry about it, though. It's nothing."

Another paper-ball hit the back of her head. "Daddy-banger!"

Judy stood up and yelled across the room, "Stop that!"

Rowan looked up at Judy with fear shining in her eyes. "Judy, no, please..."

Judy looked down at Rowan and sat down. "Rowan, what is it?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, gulping.

"Come on, Rowan, you can tell me. I promise I won't laugh at you," Judy whispered.

Rowan looked uncertain. Harry took her hand. "Is-someone-pain-in-your-butthole?"

Rowan laughed a little, but it fell short. Judy stroked her hair. "Come on, Rowan, you can tell us."

Rowan looked at Judy, scared. "You promise not to tell?"

Judy looked at Harry, then back at Rowan. "I promise. I won't tell a soul."

* * *

"Oh, it is such a pleasure to have you here!" chirped Mrs. Pearson, hurrying around and opening the windows. Tom was at Hastings Elementary School, which was a couple of blocks from the high school. "I'm so happy that some of our young folk actually care for the education of our children!"

Tom stood in his spot for a few seconds. His hair had been washed and combed back, his face clean and his breath no longer smelled of booze. He had a clean, white t-shirt on that had a sticker on it that said, _Hello, my name is Mr. Tommy!, _and he sported a pair of light blue jeans that were frayed at the bottom.

"Euh, thanks, Mrs. Pearson," said Tom, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

"Now, the children are at recess," said Mrs. Pearson, looking up at the clock. "They should be coming back in at least fifteen minutes from now. Why don't you sit down?"

"Euh, thanks," said Tom, looking around for a seat to sit in, but he could find none in sight. Finally, he sank into one of the tiny chairs and put his face into his hands. He stayed like that until he heard the door open and the sound of little sneakers walking on the floor.

"Hey, mister, you're in my seat!" said a little boy's voice from behind him. He looked up.

"Yeah, aren't you too old to be in kindergarten, mister?" said a little girl in a bright yellow jumper from his right.

Tom stood up. "Oh, sorry." He began walking away when he heard the little girl say again, "Hey, MISTER! I said, aren't you too old to be in kindergarten?"

Tom turned around and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the little girl began screaming at the top of her lungs.

"Emily, EMILY!" scolded Mrs. Pearson. "Do not scream! It's very, very rude!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Pearson," said the little girl named Emily before skipping over to her seat. Mrs. Pearson stood next to Tom and said, "Class, can you look up here for a second?"

Everyone looked up at Tom, and he felt himself go pink.

"Class," said Mrs. Pearson, "this is Mr. Tommy. He's a teacher's aide, and he will help me around the classroom for the next few weeks. He hopes to become a teacher one day himself. Can we all say hello to Mr. Tommy?"

"HELLO, MR. TOMMY!" the class roared before bursting into laughter.

"Alright, class, settle down, settle down," said Mrs. Pearson. "Now, I want you to get your art projects from the windows. We'll finish those up, and then we'll continue on addition and subtraction."

The class got up and hurried towards the open windows. Mrs. Pearson walked over to a little girl who was still sitting in her seat, rubbing her eyes. She got on her knees and gingerly ran her fingers through her wavy, copper-gold hair. "Are you all right, Dymphna?"

The little girl stopped rubbing her eyes and looked at Mrs. Pearson with her big brown eyes. Then, she nodded silently.

"Dymphna, this is Mr. Tommy," said Mrs. Pearson. "He'll be helping me around the classroom for the next few weeks." She turned to Tom. "Dymphna's new. Her and her family moved here from Ireland."

"Ah," said Tom.

Mrs. Pearson turned backed to Dymphna. "Are you tired? Do you want to go to the nurse?"

"No, I'll be fine." Surprisingly, Dymphna did not speak with an Irish accent.

"I'll go get your art project for you," said Tom quickly.

"Oh, well, isn't that nice of you, Mr. Tommy!" said Mrs. Pearson. "Say thank you to Mr. Tommy, Dymphna."

"Thanks, Mr. Tommy," said Dymphna, giving him a little gap-toothed grin. Tom smiled back and walked over to find Dymphna's art project, which was the only one left; by the time he had grabbed it, everyone else was in their seats, working on gluing and coloring and cutting. He laid it in front of Dymphna as he sat in one of the empty tiny chairs across from her.

Suddenly, she smiled. "You look funny in those chairs, Mr. Tommy."

Tom grimaced. "You have no idea how uncomfortable they are. Nice name, by the way."

"Thanks," said Dymphna, giving Tom another gap-toothed smile. "It's Irish. It means, 'little lamb'." She pulled out some crayons from her pencil box and gave some to Tom. As she began drawing on the orange construction paper, she said, "You know Westy's Pub?"

"Westy's? That closed a couple of years ago, I think," recollected Tom.

"Well, my mom's friend, Heather-she lives around here-she called my mom when we still lived in Ireland and she said that Westy's was up for sale. My stepfather, Seamus, thought it would be cool to buy it, so he did and that's why we moved here, to reopen it," said Dymphna.

Tom leaned back in his seat a little and closed his eyes. Janie Libowiz's best friend was a girl named Heather, he remembered. He opened his eyes and said, "Dymphna, is your mom's name Jane?"

Dymphna nodded. "Yeah, but everyone calls her Janie. She used to live here, but the summer before she went into 12th grade, her mom and dad moved her to Ireland."

Oh, God, it IS Janie! Tom thought to himself.

He cleared his throat. "You know, I think I might of been friends with her when she was in high school."

"Really?" Dymphna did not look up.

"Yeah. We would always go to the formals and the dances together," he said casually.

Dymphna looked at him, smirking. "What, were you like boyfriend or girlfriend or something?"

Tom suddenly remembered losing his virginity to Janie behind the football bleachers when he was fifteen. "I guess you can say that."

"Hmm," Dymphna continued coloring. "'Shame she's in love with Seamus now."

Tom smiled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Dymphna shrugged her shoulders. "Are you going to color or not?"

"Oh," Tom looked down and saw that there were three crayons laying in front of him. He picked up one of them and began to absentmindedly color the corner of the piece of paper lightly.

When three o' clock finally came around, all the kids hurried to grab their backpacks and raced out of the classroom to meet with their parents out on the front lawn or to catch the bus. Dymphna was the last one in the classroom; she stopped in front of Tom and asked, "Do you want to go with me?"

Tom looked at her. "What?"

"Do you want to go with me to see if my mom's the Janie you're talking about," explained Dymphna.

Tom stood up. "Sure."

They both said their good-byes to Mrs. Pearson and headed into the nearly-emptied hallway. "See?" Dymphna pointed upwards. "That's my fishy up there."

Tom looked up and saw that their were a collage of paper fishes–another art project, he thought to himself as Dymphna lead him outside. There, they approached a woman in her early twenties who had the same copper-gold hair as Dymphna, but she had hazel-blue eyes with a lot of orange sparkles in them. Tom immediately remembered those eyes and felt his stomach churn.

"Well, well, well," said Janie, crossing her arms and smiling, "if it isn't Tom Hanson?"

"Hi, Janie," said Tom, and he felt his cheeks flush. He eyed a small boy that stood next to Janie, who had curly dark brown hair and her eyes. He looked fidgety, almost impatient. He looked up at Janie and said, "Mommy, I HAVE to go pee-pee!"

"Oh, is that your little brother, Dymphna?" Tom asked.

"Yeah," said Dymphna. She turned to her mother. "Mom, this is Mr. Tommy. He's the teacher's aide."

One of Janie's eyebrows arched upwards. "That's funny, Tom. I thought you hated little kids."

It was true, but Tom laughed and lied, "Oh no, I love little kids! I've changed a lot since you left, Janie."

Janie eyed Tom. "You have. The last time I last you, you were this scrawny little thing. You look good, Tom."

"Oh, thanks Janie. You haven't changed a bit," Tom quickly eyed her breasts but looked away before she could notice.

There was a moment of nothing but awkward silence. Then Janie took Dymphna's hand. "Well, it was nice catching up with you, Tom."

"Yeah, you too Janie," Tom nodded his head. "Well, I guess I'll see you around, then."

Janie gave him a small smile and began to walk away. Tom stood there for a second, his legs feeling as though they were Jell-O. He shook his head to get his mind straightened out. He turned to Janie and called out, "JANIE!"

She paused walking for a few seconds and then turned back to Tom. Feeling unsure, he said loudly, "Do you remember the old bowling alley we used to hang out at?"

She nodded her head. The little boy tugged at her hand, saying, "Mommy, PEE-PEE NOW!"

Tom took a few steps forward. "Do you want to...you know...go bowling sometime?"

Janie looked like she didn't know what to say. Finally, she said, "Tom, you know I'm married."

"You could bring Dymphna along, and Heather. You're still friends with Heather, right?" Tom began to lose hope.

Janie looked uncertain for a minute. After what seemed like ages, she gave him a smile and said, "Oh...why not?"

* * *

A/N: Well, that's it for chappie 2! I hoped you really liked it!! And also, if you are wondering why Dymphna still has her hair, it's because she's actually wearing a wig that used to resemble her old hair before she was started on chemotherapy. Remember, Tom doesn't know about Dymphna's illness yet, but he will soon in a future chappie. So, thanks and, as always, happy reading!


	3. Chapter 3

"So, let me get this straight...You're-you're going out with Janie? You're taking Rowan's stepmother ON A DATE?!" Doug threw up his hands in the air.

"Well, I guess you can't technically call it a date, can you? Janie's bringing one of her friends and the five-year-old along with them," Judy pointed out. "Dymphna, right?"

Tom, whose cheeks were red with embarrassment, nodded his head. They were all back at the 21 Jump Street Chapel, where Tom had told them about the plans he had made with Janie. Most of them thought it was a bad idea, thinking that it may unravel the investigation.

"But why, Tom? WHY?" Doug collapsed into his chair, rubbing his eyes.

"It was a rather stupid decision you made, Tom," said Fuller, looking at him with an arched eyebrow.

"I know," said Tom finally. He paused for a moment, then said, "But I haven't seen Janie in seven years, you know? I just wanted to see how's she doing and what's happened to her since I last saw her and stuff."

"Hah!" said Harry, a smirk on his face.

Tom eyed Harry, hating him. "What was that for?"

He, Harry, leaned back in his chair. "Tom," he sighed, "that's so much like you."

"What's that mean?" said Tom, annoyed.

Harry sat up. "Tom, you don't just ask ex-girlfriends you haven't heard from in seven years out on dates. Especially if they're married."

"But it isn't a date!" snapped Tom. "Didn't you hear anything Judy said a minute ago?"

"Yeah, but still," Harry interjected. "It's kind of weird. And besides, what if she's changed–you know, she became psycho?"

"She didn't seem psycho to me when I talked to her," said Tom.

Harry shrugged. "You know what I mean, Tom. Listen," he said, sounding serious, "can you promise me that you-you know-don't try to become close to Janie or anyone else in this case...okay? I don't want you getting targeted for anything."

"Yeah. Sure," said Tom, shrugging his shoulders. "I mean, it's not as if, like, I still have feelings for her and stuff-"

He was quickly cut off by Harry and Judy quickly running their fingers across their throats, signaling him to stop talking. Tom looked at them, confused for a moment before he heard someone say, "You don't like my mommy anymore, Mr. Tommy?"

It was Dymphna. Tom turned around to see that she wearing a pink t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts. Her hair was in two thick braids, ending in two white ribbons. She eyed the red and yellow fireman pole and cried out, "MOMMY, LOOK, A STRIPPER POLE!"

Dymphna hurried over towards it, but Janie did not try to stop her. Instead, she walked over to Tom. A young lady with auburn hair followed her.

"Hey, Janie. Hey, Heather," said Tom, shaking hands with the lady with auburn hair.

"I was worried that we would get lost," said Janie, smiling a little. "I've forgotten some of the old places in town." She paused and looked around the place. "Wasn't this an old church when I left?"

"Yeah, but now some cops use it," said Tom. "My friends, they work here." He turned to the gang. "I told her to meet me here," he explained to them.

He then introduced Janie to Judy, Harry and Doug, and Janie smiled at them and shook hands. "Nice to meet you," she said.

"Mom!" cried Dymphna, grabbing hold of the fireman pole and spinning around and around. "Come and try this!"

"Dymphna!" Janie shook her head. "Don't do that! You know how easily you throw up when you get dizzy. Besides, we're going to be late!"

And Dymphna, sulking, stopped spinning and let go of the pole. There was a small grin on Judy's face as she said, "Don't worry, Dymphna, you can come by anytime if you need to."

"Oh, that's quite nice of you," smiled Janie. "Isn't that cool, Dymphna?"

Dymphna walked over and took hold of her mother's hand. "I guess."

"Alright then," said Tom, checking his watch, "I guess we should get going now."

"Alright. Nice meeting you all," added Janie. They said goodbye to one another, and they left. As Tom closed the door, Doug called out obnoxiously, "Good luck working on your relation-shit!"

* * *

By the time they had reached the bowling alley, it was dark and getting cold. There were only two other groups of people in the building, which was unusual. For Tom, at least.

"Usually, it's packed on Friday nights," said Tom, as they got their shoes.

"Well, not really," said Heather. "Most kids in high school nowadays are spending their time in vacant lots and the old closed-down factory, getting drunk or high. They don't hang out at the bowling alley anymore, like we did when we were in high school."

They picked out their bowling balls and got themselves seats in front of an abandoned lane. Tom went first, and, as always, got a strike. As they all took turns, they talked with one another about their lives since they last saw one another. Halfway through their first game, Heather stood up and asked anyone if they want something to drink.

"Coca-Cola," said Tom.

"Diet Coke," said Janie.

"Ginger-ale please," said Dymphna.

Heather nodded and walked over to the soda machine. As Dymphna got up to bowl, Tom leaned back in his chair. "So, you had another kid?"

"What? Oh yeah," said Janie, tearing her eyes away from her daughter. "His name's Caleb, he just turned three."

"He's your husband's kid?" asked Tom.

"Obviously," said Janie, smiling and rolling her eyes.

"When did you two marry?" asked Tom.

"About two years ago," answered Janie. "Caleb was one, Dymphna was four. She's turning six in February."

"Really? That's cool," said Tom as Heather came by with drinks. "Thanks, Heather."

Dymphna came back and Heather got up for her turn. Tom took a sip of his soda, then asked, "Are you two planning to have anymore kids?"

Janie giggled. "Why do you want to know all of this stuff?"

"I don't know," said Tom with a little laugh.

Janie leaned back in her chair. "Well, we want to, but you see, Dymphna..." Janie's voice dropped to a whisper. "Well, you can say her health isn't the best."

Tom arched his eyebrows. "Oh, wow, I...I didn't know."

"Didn't know what?" asked Dymphna, looking at them with her huge brown eyes.

"Oh, nothing, sweetheart," Janie dug into her purse and pulled out a couple of quarters. "How about you go to the jukebox over there and pick out a song you like?"

"Sure!" said Dymphna brightly, taking the quarters from her mother and hurried away.

Tom turned back to Janie. Janie sighed and said, "Well, I guess you can imagine with moving over here and buying the house and buying Westy's and taking care of groceries and her medicine, we wouldn't have the time or the money for a new baby."

"I understand," Tom took another gulp of soda. He set it down on the table and went quiet for a moment. Then, he asked, "What's he like with the kids?"

"Who? Seamus?" asked Janie.

"Your husband, yeah," muttered Tom.

Janie blinked a few times. "Fine. He has a son named after him and a daughter from his first marriage, but he treats Dymphna and Caleb just the same. He gets along great with the kids. Why?"

Tom shook his head. "Nothing."

Janie's face went stony. "You've heard those rumors about Seamus and Rowan, haven't you?"

Tom's eyes widened. "Oh no, I wasn't-"

"Good," said Janie in a angry voice. "Because they're not true."

Tom stared at her a few minutes. "Right."

Suddenly, the whole room was filled with the Rolling Stones's 'Start Me Up'. Dymphna came waltzing over to them, her lips pouted and her hands in her hips, which were swinging from side to side. Janie, Heather and Tom laughed as she stopped in front of them.

"I'm Mick Jagger!" she exclaimed.

"Of course you are, sweetie," chuckled Janie.

Dymphna turned to Tom. "You wanna dance with me, Mr. Tommy?"

"Oh no," said Tom, shaking his head. "I'm a horrible dancer."

"Oh, don't worry," she reassured him. "I'm a pretty horrible dancer too, but I don't show it in front of my class, because then they'll laugh at me. But, I'm not at school, and you're not at work, which is like school for grown-ups!"

"So?" shrugged Tom.

Dymphna rolled her eyes and grabbed Tom's wrist. "Come on!"

Tom stood up next to Dymphna, his face pink he was trying so hard to not laugh. She got back into her Mick Jagger-esqe pose and said, "Just do what I do!"

She then paraded throughout the room, flapping her arms, looking as though she about to take off and fly out of the bowling alley. Tom stood there, watching at her for a few minutes, his stomach hurting from laughing. Then, awkwardly, he put his hands on his lips and imitated Dymphna, but had to stop every couple of seconds to burst into another fit of laughter. There were tears pooling in Janie and Heather's eyes, and pretty soon, Dymphna joined in, making the walls of the bowling alley shake violently.

* * *

"So, how'd it go?" asked Judy the next morning.

Tom, who was watching the rain fall from his window, shook his head. "Janie doesn't believe it. She's in denial too."

Judy sighed and sank into her chair, shaking her head. "Oh, I don't know, Tom. Maybe this _is_ a lost cause after all." She looked at him. "What if Rowan _was _lying?"

Tom blinked. He remembered that when he had hinted her about it, she seemed rather nervous under her anger, as if she knew the question was coming. "I don't know either, Jude."

"But she seemed like she was telling the truth when she told Harry and me," Judy shook her head. She was silent for a moment, then she said, "I don't understand..."

Tom watched a raindrop fall into the surface of the window and roll to the bottom of the window-sill, thinking about how Janie told him about Dymphna's state of health. "Me neither, Jude."

* * *

A/N: Well, now you can say that Tom FINALLY knows something is wrong with Dymphna, but I'll give you a hint: he DOESN'T know that she is terminally ill still!! Don't you just LOVE Tom angst?

-xoxo,

coletter barbossa


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey, guys," said Rowan.

Judy and Harry looked up from their lunches. They were in the cafeteria, eating at a table in the corner, far way from everyone else.

"What is it, Rowan?" asked Judy, setting her turkey sandwich down on an empty plastic bag.

Rowan pursed her lips for a minute, looking for something to say. Then, she said, "My dad's working on Westy's today. You know, for opening day in a few weeks. He wants me to bring some of my friends over." Then, she paused again, only to blurt out, "Seamus will be there too."

"Why does he want us to come over?" Judy asked again, suddenly curious.

"Oh, I dunno, I guess he needs some people to help him straighten up the place is all," shrugged Rowan.

Judy and Harry looked at one another, suspicious. They turned back to her. "Seriously, Rowan, what's up?"

Rowan quickly lowered her head, playing with the ends of her thick, black hair nervously. "Nothing."

"Is it about your dad again?" Judy asked quietly.

Rowan's head bowed lower. "No."

"Rowan." Now, Harry was talking to her.

Finally, she looked up. "It's fine, really now, guys. He's not doing it to me anymore."

"What?!" Milk nearly squirted out of Judy's noise.

"My stepmother, Janie, noticed how weird he's been acting, finally. She pulled him aside and told him to quit acting bonkers," she explained.

"And just like that?" Judy raised her eyebrows.

"My stepmother is twenty-four years old and as hot as Hell itself. She's the only person I feel like he listens to her," muttered Rowan, and she began to play with her hair again.

"But-he-still--?" asked Harry.

Rowan looked at him, tears in her eyes. "Yes, but I told you, it's getting better, okay?!"

"Rowan, if your father is still doing that to you, then-" Judy began when they heard a voice from behind them. They all turned around and saw Seamus walking towards them, with Doug as McQuaid.

"Hey, Rowan, guess what?" Seamus asked his sister with a smile on his face. "It turns out that Doug's schedule and mine got mixed up. We now all have the same lunch together! Do you think there's some room for us?"

Rowan gave a little wail and ran out of the cafeteria, leaving everyone in there staring at the doors in stone silence.

* * *

_Warm, so, so warm. All of his bed sheets and blankets were wrapped around Tom's tiny body, like a caterpillar in a cocoon. The room was dark and still, peaceful. Tom breathed in through his nose, in such a deep sleep that it seemed impossible for him to wake up. _

_Then, without warning, his eyes flickered open. The headlights of his mother's car shined through his window, hitting his wall. He laid there still for a moment, waiting to hear the engine to go off and then to hear the front door open from down the hall. When he did, he was reassured to peek from his bedroom door. He crawled from his warm bed onto the cold blue carpet, and, as quietly as he could, he opened the door and peeped outside into the hallway. He immediately became frightened by what he saw. _

_His mother was sitting at her chair in the kitchen table, the one chair facing the window to the backyard. Her face was contorted, and tiny, but audible animal gasps escaped out of her mouth. Her cheeks looked wet, and she kept wiping her face with the back of her hands. She did not notice Tom at all, and kept sobbing to herself. Terrified, Tom fled back to his bed and crawled back under his covers. He stayed there, no waves of sleep coming to comfort him. _

_Finally after a while, he heard her go into his parent's bedroom, than into the bathroom. All he could hear for about thirty minutes or so then was the shower faucet. Then, it turned off and he heard her going back into the bedroom, then back to the kitchen. By then, the sun was beginning to rise. He gnawed on his fingernails, a bad habit of his that his mother disapprove of. _

_Around seven thirty, he could smell French toast cooking from the kitchen. He could hear the TV from the family room on, broadcasting the news. His mother came in and quietly sat next to him, stroking his hair. Tom usually liked the feeling of it, but, today, he did not. He was nervous and scared; he knew something was wrong. He said quietly, "Momma, I'm awake." _

_Tom's mother stopped combing his hair with her hands and slowly withdrew it to her chest. "I'm sorry, Tom." She said nothing for a minute, and then she said, "I made some French toast for breakfast. You like French toast, right?" _

_Tom rolled on his back and stared at his mother. Her long hair was still wet a little. He nodded, rubbing his eyes. _

_Then, she smiled. "Good. Your father's waiting in the kitchen for you." _

_Tom smiled and sat up, wrapping his arms around his mother's neck. He was tiny for a seven-year-old, but he thought that was a good thing, because both of his parents could carry him around in their arms at ease, as if he were still a toddler. His mother collected him in her arms and carried him to the kitchen table. _

_Once there, Tom sat in his seat and began pouring a large amount of maple syrup on his French toast. There was silence for a moment, then his mother said, "I'm sorry, Tom." _

_Tom set the syrup bottle on the table and asked, "Sorry for what, Momma?" _

"_Well, Tom," started his father, "your mother had to leave in the middle of the night. It was about…Audrey, your sister." _

"_I know who Audrey is, Poppa," said Tom. Still, even though they lived under the same roof, he had hardly seen or spoken to her; she mainly stayed in her bedroom, sleeping. She was sleeping, Tom remembered, because she had cancer, and the medicine they gave her made her lose her hair and couldn't eat because she was sick to her stomach or the sores in her mouth made it painful for her to eat. _

_Then, he said, "How is she doing?" _

_Audrey was admitted to the hospital a couple of days ago; his parents had told him that she was just feeling much worse than usual. _

"_You see," said Mr. Hanson again, "that's the thing. Momma went up to the children's hospital because we got a phone call last night. The doctors told us that she was doing badly." _

_Tom's eyes grew big. "Is she okay?" _

"_Oh, she's much better," Mrs. Hanson said, her voice shaky but a reassuring smile on her face. "When I got up there, she started doing better." _

"_When can I see her? Can I go see her?" asked Tom. His parents looked at one another, and then they looked back at Tom. _

"_Later on this week, okay? On Tuesday night, maybe," answered his mother. _

_Today is Sunday, Tom thought. Tuesday's two days away._

"_Okay, then," nodded Tom. He cut a corner of his French toast and stuck it in his mouth, but instead of it tasting sweet, it tasted sour. He felt his stomach suddenly roll over. He swallowed and pushed his plate away. _

"_You not hungry today, Tom?" asked Mr. Hanson. _

_Tom shrugged, pretending that he didn't feel ill. "I guess so. Can I go watch cartoons?" _

_His parents nodded, and he trudged into the family room, turning on __**Scooby-Doo **__and laying on the couch, on his stomach so that he didn't feel as sick. _

_About an hour or so later, Tom felt a little better. His father walked into the room and knelt next to him. "Tom, you awake still?" _

_Tom picked his head up. "Yeah." _

_Mr. Hanson smiled. "Good. I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the park today. Play catch or something." _

"_Why?" _

"_It's nice outside, and it was storming all last week. Heck, the ground will be a little soft and muddy, but a bit of dirt won't hurt us," said Mr. Hanson. Tom noticed that he was trying to sound happy. _

_Tom sat up on the couch. "Can Momma come with us?" _

_Mr. Hanson shook his head. "Not now. She's making some phone calls." _

"_Why's that?" _

_Mr. Hanson sighed. "She's very stressed out right now, Tom." _

"_About Audrey?"_

_Mr. Hanson nodded. "She's very sick, Tom. You must know that by now." _

"_Of course," Tom nodded this time. _

"_Okay, well, do you want to go or not?" Mr. Hanson changed the subject too quickly._

_Tom jumped up. "Yes!" _

"_Alright, remember, comb your hair and brush your teeth, and make sure you use TOOTHPASTE this time! I don't want you running your toothbrush in cold water and then brush your teeth with only that while you have a peppermint under your tongue, like last time!" warned Mr. Hanson. _

"_Sure, Poppa!" Tom ran into the bathroom and closed the door. He splashed his face with water a couple of times, combed his hair with his wet fingers, brushed his teeth (with toothpaste, as his father warned him), and quickly took a tinkle in the toilet, remembering to put the seat down when he was finished. Then, he hurried into his room and put on a light blue t-shirt and a pair of shorts. He put on clean cotton socks, and, after about ten minutes trying to tie both of his shoes, he hurried back to his father. _

"_I'm ready!" cried Tom happily. Mr. Hanson opened the door, letting Tom go outside first. Tom climb into the backseat of his father's car, where their baseball stuff had been lying in the seat next to Tom. Mr. Hanson got on the driver's seat, put his key in the ignition slot, started the car and drove away from their house. Their dog, a beagle named Dunkin, barked from behind the fence. _

_Tom sighed and turned away from his house as his father turned to the end of their street. "I wish we brought Dunkin with us." _

_When they reached the park, no one else was there. Mr. Hanson shrugged and said that they were probably at church. He parked right nearby the playground. Tom climbed out, leaving his baseball things in the car, and ran towards the swings. He sat on one of them, and began to pump his tiny legs forward and back, trying to make himself swing. His father sat next to him and began to swing, and to Tom's displeasure, his father went up farther than he did. _

"_Hey!" Tom cried. "You're going farther up than me!" _

"_I know!" Mr. Hanson said back with a laugh. _

_And then, it hit Tom again, just as sudden as it did in the morning; the nausea, making Tom feel more sick than ever. Tom stopped swinging and as his feet hit the ground, he got off and turned to his father. _

"_Poppa, I don't feel good," said Tom in a whiny voice. _

_Mr. Hanson, who was still swinging high into the air, stopped to swing as well and got off it. "What's that, Tom?" _

"_My tummy hurts," Tom complained. "I think I'm going to throw up." _

_Mr. Hanson looked alarmed. "We'll pick up some ginger ale when we get home, okay Tom?" _

_But Tom shook his head. "I feel really, really sick Poppa." _

_Mr. Hanson nodded and picked up his son. Tom nestled himself against his father's warmth and let his arms flop lifelessly around his father's shoulders as he carried his son back to the car. With one hand, Mr. Hanson cleared away all of their stuff from the backseats and laid his son on his stomach. Then, he got into the car and drove away from the park. _

_Tom was so focused on how sick he felt, he didn't even realize that he had fallen asleep in his father's car and woke up a few hours later. His stomach was churning violently, and he knew what would happen if he didn't rush to the bathroom quickly enough. He slammed the door as he rushed in and kneeled next to the toilet, his mouth wide open. Then, he got a horrible lurching sensation, and he thought he was going to be sick…but instead, it automatically seemed backwards; it seemed like the vomit was going __**downwards. **_

_His lower abdomen immediately began to ache, and Tom then knew that he wasn't going to vomit after all. He jumped to his feet quickly and pulled down his pants and underwear, and sat on the toilet. His head felt like it was full of air, and his face felt puffy and hot and sweaty. He was breathing in deeply, taking in huge gulps of air. Then, there was sickening splash in the toilet, and Mrs. Hanson pounding on the door, and he heard her concerned voice float through the crack under the door: "Tommy, are you all right, pumpkin?" _

_She opened the door and gasped as Tom felt another wave of nausea and crossed his arms to try to make the feeling disappear. Looking up at his mother, he said thickly, "Momma, I'm sick." _

_Mrs. Hanson helped wipe Tom's bottom off from the sickening sludge, then laid him on the family room couch. She brought him his pillow and his blanket, so that he could feel a little more comfortable. Then, she put out a small plastic garbage bin from the bathroom, in case he threw up. She also brought him some ginger ale and water and encouraged him to drink both so that he would stay hydrated. He laid there sleeping for the rest of the day as his parents quietly ate dinner in the other room. _

_Tom didn't actually throw up until later on that night. He tried to do it a quietly as he possibly could, but his mother immediately rushed out of her bedroom to help her son. She took the garbage bin away to dump into the toilet, then went back to take Tom's temperature. As she let Tom curl up in her lap, she embraced him and stroked his hair. "My baby, my poor sick baby." _

_She then took the thermometer out of Tom's mouth and checked it under the light of the lamp. "My, Tom, you're 102__F. You must have gotten whatever's going around at your school, huh?" _

_Tom began to cry. "I don't like being sick. It hurts." _

_Mrs. Hanson shushed him and rocked him back and forth. "It's okay, pumpkin." Then, she sighed. "My poor sick babies…" _

_Out of the blue, the phone rang. Then, it stopped. They could hear Mr. Hanson talking quietly on the phone from the bedroom. A few moments later, Mr. Hanson walked out of the bedroom, looking very sleepy but fully dressed. _

"_Where are you going at this time of day?" Mrs. Hanson asked her husband. _

_Mr. Hanson put on his coat. "It's Audrey again." _

"_Oh no," whispered Mrs. Hanson. "She isn't-?" _

_They want me to come over there. That's all they said." Mr. Hanson looked worried. "Stay here and take care of Tom, Patti. I'm sure she'll be okay." _

_And without saying goodbye, he opened the front door and left. Tom began to cry again, but not as strongly as last time. Mrs. Hanson shushed him. Tom looked up at her, fear shining out of his eyes. _

"_Momma, is Audrey going to die?" he whispered. _

"_Now don't say that," said Mrs. Hanson in a soothing tone. "She'll be just fine." _

"_Mmm-hmm, Momma," Tom hummed under his breath, fingering her hair as tears poured down his face, silently, still. _

* * *

Tom woke up with a start. He could hear traffic from outside his bedroom window. Grunting, he rolled onto his belly and looked at his clock. It was 10:30 in the morning. He had another hour and a half to show up at the elementary school. He got up and, stretching, he went over to his dresser to find whatever was clean to wear. He threw on a green Eagles t-shirt from when he visited Philadelphia, and put on a pair of jeans that were ripped at his knee. Then, in his white socks, he wondered into the kitchen, had cold cereal and some orange juice, and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. When he was finished, he put on his sneakers, his jacket, then went outside and drove the Mustang out onto the road.

By the time he reached the elementary school, the kindergarteners had finished lunch and were at recess. Mrs. Pearson was walking down the hallway from the teachers lounge as Tom approached her classroom door. She smiled at him and said, "Hello, Tom!"

"Hi," Tom managed a smile. "Is Dymphna here today?"

"Oh no, I'm afraid to say that she isn't," Mr. Pearson shook her head as she opened the door. They stepped into the empty classroom.

"Why?" Tom stared at Dymphna's seat, which was the only one pushed in neatly.

"Oh, she has a doctor appointment today, up at the hospital," answered Mrs. Pearson. She then turned to a red basket on an empty student desk that was right behind hers. Up on the wall, there was a piece of paper with a green arrow pointing down to the basket, and said, "WHAT DID I MISS WHEN I WAS GONE?" Mrs. Pearson stuck her hand into it and pulled out a few papers. Then, she turned to Tom.

"I usually don't do this, but I was just wondering, before the children get back from recess, that you deliver all of Dymphna's work to her next-door neighbor, Miss Barley?" she asked him. "She lives not far from here-a block or two. It's 17 Amber Drive."

"Oh, sure," said Tom, taking the papers from her.

"You see, Dymphna usually stays all day at the hospital for her appointments, sometimes overnight if it's needed. I usually run over to Miss Barley's place after work and hand her Dymphna's work," she explained. "Just tell her that you're from the elementary school and that you have Dymphna's work."

"Sure," Tom said again. "See you soon."

He walked out of the room, into the hallway, and out of the school building. He took a right, checked the street signs by the corner, and made a left. Soon, he reached another street sign that said 'AMBER DR.' on it. Tom made another left into the block, crossing the street so that he was on the side where the odd-numbered houses were.

17 Amber Drive was in between 15 and 19. There was an older lady getting out of her car from the 19 one, so Tom automatically assumed the 15 was Janie's house. He stood there for a second, staring at it in disbelief; the base of the cozy-looking two-story house was painted a cream color, and the shutters boarding the window were a gray-blue color. There was a white front porch swing set on the front porch, and a huge oak house in the front yard. From the bay window, a gray cat sat on the top of the couch, looking at Tom with his big blue eyes. Then, it began to lick itself.

"Excuse me, sir?" A voice poured from the doorway from the 17 house. Tom turned and saw a woman was in her late forties standing there. Tom recognized Caleb, who was being held by the woman, chewing on a plastic toy.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" said Tom turning to her. "Are you Miss Barley?"

"Yes," she answered.

"Hi, I'm Tom," he introduced himself. "I'm working over at the elementary school, and Dymphna's teacher wanted me to give you this."

He went over and handed Miss Barley Dymphna's homework. She put Caleb on the ground and took them from Tom. "Thanks," she smiled. For someone in their late forties, she was pretty.

"You baby-sitting Caleb today?" asked Tom. "I know their mother, Janie. We used to go to high school together."

"Oh yes," Miss Barley nodded. "She's a sweet thing, you know, for a twenty-something. Very grown up."

Tom nodded. "She is, isn't she?"

Miss Barley sighed. "Well, I guess you would expect that, ever since of what happened it her daughter a couple of years back."

"Yeah, I heard she's kind of sick," said Tom.

Her eyes widened. "'Kind of'?"

"What?" asked Tom.

"Didn't you hear about her five-year-old?" Miss Barley whispered.

Tom, looking confused, shook his head. "I mean, I know her health isn't all that good, but, it's like, you know, something not that serious, right?"

Miss Barley checked behind her back to see if Caleb was still there, but he had wondered into the family room where _Sesame Street _was on TV. Then, she turned back to him.

"Dymphna was diagnosed with a brain tumor when she was just a toddler. She's been receiving chemotherapy for it ever since."


End file.
